


Struck down

by JaqofSpades



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:45:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is staring, and Darcy has a thing or two to say about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Struck down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merideath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/gifts).



> for merideathislost who chose Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”. ...” in the fancy words meme on tumblr. Also shaped by one of the more delicious 'texts from last night' (http://jaqofspades.tumblr.com/post/52663204197/melifair-textsfromthe-avengers-submitted-by).

He's staring again.

He knows it, and she knows it, and he knows she knows he knows it. But he can't quite bring himself to stop.

She hunches over her computer and mutters curses at it. She twirls her hair around her fingers as she stares desolately at the screen, and rakes at it with clawed hands when she needs to translate Coulsen's chicken scrawls into actual notes. She takes her glasses off, cleans them, and then peers hopefully through as if they'll offer some clarity on the situation.

And occasionally, she'll do something so shockingly erotic he'll have to slide himself further under the desk to preserve a modicum of decency.

Yesterday, she'd pushed back from her desk to throw herself into the most luxuriant stretch he'd ever seen, back arched and bosom thrust out, one long line of pure physical release. And now, she is eating an apple.

Eve in the Garden, he thinks, closing his eyes to block out the sight. Every fairytale that ever saw a man fall, he groans as he watches white teeth cleave the dark red skin.

“Are you hungry, Steve?” she asks at one point, and he wants to growl in the affirmative, to go over there and bite down where her pretty white teeth have been. But he's on a pedestal higher than Adam ever had, with so much further to fall, so he simply looks away.

Her laugh scalds his ears, and he winces. It's pure cowardice, really. He wants her, and he's afraid. He feels so old, so out of place here, and she's the youngest, the hippest, the most plugged-in of them all. She's just so – Darcy.

And while any other woman of his acquaintance – then or now – would have turned cold and unwelcoming in the face of his inertia, she just goes on doing her thing. Yelling at the computer. Bouncing balls off the roof. Telling off-colour jokes and wearing jewel-coloured underthings that glow against her skin. 

Bumping him with her hip, and trailing her fingers along his chest, and draping herself over his shoulder to point out some nonsensical point he immediately loses the ability to focus on.

Sometimes she leaves him little messages. Sticky notes, they call them, bright blue squares she leaves on his chair, his computer screen, even the door to his apartment.

“Smile, Rogers.”

“It might never happen.”

“Enjoy the view?”

At least he understood them. The one she has left him this afternoon has him baffled. A single word, albeit a long one. He can't find a dictionary in the place, until he remembers they do everything online now. He can use that Goggle.

It takes him two tries to type it correctly – surely she'd left out some letters? 'Strikhedonia' simply looks wrong, but then the screen starts to fill with results.

He frowns at the meaning, not sure he understands. His heart is pounding, though, his body poised for action - fight or flight, the adrenalin is demanding. Fight or flight. 

Shes not even looking at him, completely focused on the little mirror she keeps in her purse, painting her lips a deep, dark, sinful red.

It'll go everywhere, he thinks desperately, but he's already out of his chair, striding the few metres to her desk. His hands are already in her hair, and he is already kissing her, tongues tangling together hard enough and long enough and wet enough to overpower the waxy, metallic tang of lipstick.

“Sorry. You might need to do that again,” he murmurs when he finally lifts his head.

Her smile is incandescent. She leans up and breathes into his ear, tongue flickering inside in a way he finds shockingly erotic.

“To hell with it,” she says, and takes him by the hand, leading him out into the New York afternoon.

She won't let him buy her lunch, or even pay her admission to the creaking old baseball museum, so he's not even sure if they're on a date. But it's her who slams the emergency stop on the creaky old elevator, and her who unbuttons his shirt and licks her way down his chest. 

He's trying to pull her up for a kiss when she waves him off to focus on yanking his zipper down. She's already on her knees when she speaks up, almost apologetically. 

“I understand you have values, and that's awesome,” she says, licking her lips as she eyes the bulge in his Y-fronts. “But it's been weeks, Steve. Weeks! And all I want to do is help you forget about them briefly,” she says, one hand sneaking inside to stroke his length.

“What makes you think it will be brief?” he asks, head thunking back onto the wall as his hands start to clench in the silken mass of her hair.

“Cause you're a sweet guy who's all hearts and flowers and Valentine's Day cards. We can try that later,” she promises. “But right now? Momma needs it fast and dirty.”

And he has nothing – nothing! - to say to that because she is pushing his underwear away, nibbling her way up and down the side of his cock before sliding her mouth right over him, tongue and teeth and suction claiming his ability to speak or think.

He doesn't need them, though, to pinch her nipples through her blouse until they stand out like berries, or to suck them into his mouth in worship. As long as he has touch and taste, he's up to the mission. Better off even.

He's never fucked a girl in an elevator before, and he's close to thinking that's a downright sin by the time Darcy's scream bounces its way down the elevator shaft.

She's gathered tight against his side when they finally leave the museum, walking quickly to evade the puzzled maintenance staff.

“Can I wine you and dine you yet?” he asks hopefully as they step into the street.

She raises a teasing eyebrow. “We'll see. Wouldn't want to move too fast, Captain Rogers,” she says, a smirk tugging at the corners of her coy smile.

“To hell with that,” he growls, and pulls her to him, oblivious to the honking and catcalls surrounding them.

“Go out with me tonight, Darcy. Come home with me, right now. Don't ever flirt with another man again. Ever.”

He's so shocked and appalled by the words coming out of his mouth, he nearly misses her response.

“Fuck yes,” she says, and maybe they're high on strikhedonia, or maybe it's just her kisses, but he can't bring himself to care.

_fin_

_Disclaimer: This fanfiction was written for personal enjoyment rather than profit. No infringement on the rights of the intellectual property owners is intended._


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